


with their errant light

by pocky_slash



Category: The West Wing
Genre: First Time, M/M, Post-Canon Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-20
Updated: 2007-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:54:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24247603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocky_slash/pseuds/pocky_slash
Summary: Sam comes back to DC, but not in the way that he'd like.
Relationships: Will Bailey/Sam Seaborn
Kudos: 8





	with their errant light

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](https://leiascully.livejournal.com/profile)[leiascully](https://leiascully.livejournal.com/) for all of her beta work, as well as [](https://sillyg.livejournal.com/profile)[sillyg](https://sillyg.livejournal.com/) and [](https://scrollgirl.livejournal.com/profile)[scrollgirl](https://scrollgirl.livejournal.com/) who both looked at various drafts. I should tangentially also thank [](https://saline-joy.livejournal.com/profile)[saline_joy](https://saline-joy.livejournal.com/), because it was her "post your unfinished stories!" meme that made me actually look at this again. Title from Dar Williams [Mercy of the Fallen](http://www.poplyrics.net/waiguo/darwilliams/066.htm), because when all else fails, I resort to Dar lyrics.
> 
> Oh, and unlike basically everything else I've written, this is fully season seven compliant.

**i.**  
When Sam loses his election, he's more surprised than he ought to be. He knows that people have been telling him for months that he wasn't going to win. He knows they are smart people who have no reason to lie to him. He should have seen this coming, but he couldn't help but hold out hope that the electorate would realize, at the eleventh hour, just how wrong his opponent is.

CJ tells him, when she calls to console him, that sort of optimism is exactly the reason he'd make a great Congressman in the first place. He thanks her for saying as much and tells her he'll be fine, but it reeks of the kind of false sincerity he'd been using on voters and donors all week. He's sick of it, embarrassed that he's just used it on one of his closest friends, and even more embarrassed when she picks up on it. After that, he keeps his calls to his friends brief. Josh's call consists mostly of awkward silence and weighty confusion, briefer than most. Donna's is longer once she almost shrewishly snaps at him for pulling the "I'm fine" bullshit on her and encourages him to open up.

Strangely, Will Bailey's is the longest.

"I'm sorry, Sam," Will says, and in his voice there's a hint of the devastation that Sam is feeling.

"It's okay, Will. It's not your fault." Sam's surprised to discover he's being honest for the first time all night.

"I talked you into running. I didn't give up the race when you asked me to."

"If I hadn't wanted to run, I wouldn't have done it, Will."

"You would have been beautiful," Will says, a bit dreamily. Sam feels an embarrassed lump rising in his throat, the kind that makes his ears go red, until Will continues. "The things you could have gotten done. The changes you could have helped enact...." Sam has a brief flashback to the first time he and Will met, to a press conference, to Will standing at a podium and idealistically tearing apart an incumbent he had no chance of beating. Even when he was sure to lose, he held on and pulled out a win. It was unheard of. It was stupendous. It made Sam wish he could find some way to distill that idealism and hold onto it. Maybe if he had kept Will on, he would have won.

"We both know you're dreaming," Sam says, not unkindly.

"Yeah," Will says wistfully, "but if anyone could have done it, it would have been you."

They're quiet for a moment, painfully aware that Sam will never get a chance to prove Will right. They spend a few more minutes commiserating. When Sam hangs up, he's genuinely sorry to go.

**ii.**  
Sam spends a year and a half as a drifter, trying half a dozen hats on for size. He spends some time working pro bono for non-profits and doing freelance speechwriting, but ultimately ends up back in law. He doesn't try politics, not directly, and he swears with a straight face that he doesn't miss it.

Mostly.

Sometimes he gets e-mails from Will Bailey. Not many, and not on any sort of regular basis, but they start when Will suffers a crisis of faith regarding Toby and continue every few months. He gets the impression that Will doesn't have many friends in DC, but his e-mails also silently speak of mistakes and crushed spirits, of a despondency left unspoken that Sam can see in himself. Sometimes he reads Will's e-mails and there's a part of him that yearns for Washington in ways he's not sure he can articulate. When he thinks about it too much, he's not sure he wants to articulate it, either.

Besides, there are other issues at hand. Yes, his new firm isn't a monster the likes of Gage Whitney, and yes, they do a lot of good, meaningful work, but he can't help but be ashamed of how he's ended up. After five of the most captivating, invigorating years of his life, he's back exactly where he started.

Around the time that his reality starts to sink in, the dreams start. They're frighteningly private and almost obscenely romantic--at least, in the classically defined way. In the dreams, Josh comes back for him, bursting into the conference room at his new firm the same way he did at Gage Whitney, insisting that Sam come back.

The first time it happens, he's embarrassed, convinced that it's some sort of pathetic delusion. He knows he'd never go back. But by the third or fourth time, he starts to admit to himself that he'd jump at the chance. Enough time has passed since his election that the bitterness has worn away. He'd be willing to give it a second shot, and if Josh were the one asking....

The dream repeats itself every so often, usually when he falls asleep to MSNBC. It always ends the same way--Josh making him an offer he can't refuse--just before he wakes. He gets used to it, and even expects it after a few months. It adds to the monotony of his new life, and therefore he's confounded when it changes.

One afternoon, in the early fall, Sam falls asleep while working on his laptop, his e-mail client open to one of Will's sporadic updates. He dreams through his light nap, but this time it's not Josh asking him back to Bartlet, but Will trying to pull him on board for Russell. He wakes, startled and confused, before his dream persona comes to a decision. He's even more startled when he realizes what the answer would be, especially since he can't stand the thought of President Bingo Bob Russell. He does his best to put the dream out of his mind, but he can't help wondering about Will between e-mails--how he is, what he's up to, and if he still has that tie.

He comes home early from work one day, clutching Hoynes' recently published memoir in his hands. He needs only to glance at the index to know exactly what job is awaiting Josh should Hoynes get elected, and just as he's about to sit down and give it a thorough read, his cellphone rings. It takes him three rings to find it, and he barely has time to flip it open before the voicemail kicks in, much less check to see who's calling.

It's Josh.

He mumbles a shocked greeting, trying valiantly to keep from falling off the sofa. He braces himself for the question he's been waiting to hear for almost two years, but the question he hears instead catches him off guard.

In the end, he tells Josh to go after Matt Santos and tries not to dwell on the fact that this time, he's not included in Josh's plans for political conquest.

On the plus side, the dreams stop for good, after that.

**iii.**  
Sam meets Joanne at a benefit. She makes him laugh and doesn't make fun of him when he spills champagne on himself after tripping over his own feet.

He buys her a drink, and less than a year later, he buys her a ring.

**iv.**  
By the time Josh comes back for him, Sam's almost expecting it. Donna's dropped hints that they're in need of some Communications personnel, and with Toby out of the picture, he knows that there are few speechwriters left that Josh really trusts. He wonders if Will Bailey's been offered anything, but he's afraid to ask. Will's periodic e-mails stopped a few weeks after he was promoted, and Sam is strangely hesitant when it comes to initiating contact with Will. Like many of the mysteries surrounding his odd pseudo-friendship with Will Bailey, it's something he doesn't like to spend too much time thinking about, especially now that he's engaged to Joanne.

At first he thinks he'll blow Josh off, but the allure of the Beltway follows him around the house to the point where Joanne begins to tease him about it. She encourages him to fly to DC, tells him she's more than willing to move there with him. She doesn't seem to realize she's hammering the nails into the coffin of their relationship, even when he comes back and admits he's accepted the position. She acts as though she's thrilled, and he thinks she genuinely is. What she doesn't realize is that accepting this job means an instant end to the schedule she relies on and the weekends sailing that she enjoys so much. Sam doesn't have the heart to explain to her, in detail, how he's ruined her life. He lets her stay in California and pack up the house while he flies to the city he yearns for, to start a job that's unsuited to his talents. He's sure there's an irony to be found in that, but he's too tired to look too closely for it.

**v.**  
Getting back into the gentle rush of Washington is a relief, like waking up after a long nap. As his stress level rises, he actually starts to relax. It's as if he's finally popped an aching joint back into place, and he pursues his work with a fervor that doesn't match the lack of passion he feels for it. He keeps things in order as Josh and Donna vacation someplace warm, acquaints himself with the staff, and catches up with old friends. He has lunch with CJ and drops by Toby's apartment, where he's let in after only ten minutes of arguing through the door. He hunts down his old assistants and friends, and in between scheduling meetings and returning phonecalls, he has coffee and lunch and drinks with everyone he's spent the last four years missing.

Except Will Bailey's nowhere to be found.

He asks around casually, but Will has always just left the room, the wing, the building. It's frustrating and slightly ominous, but Sam can't bring himself to abandon the idea of coffee or lunch with the man who was essentially his replacement, the man who got him into this mess in the first place.

He runs into Elsie Snuffin a few days into his new job. After he left, after Will left, even, she became Mrs. Bartlet's chief speechwriter and now he hears she's snagged a position on Senator Alice Lansing's staff, mostly thanks to the first lady's recommendation. She eagerly invites him to lunch, but manages to completely avoid the subject of her stepbrother for almost thirty minutes.

"You know, it's funny," he says to her once the waiter has disappeared to run off the bill--his treat, despite her objections, "I haven't been able to find your brother all week." Elsie began to look distinctly uncomfortable. "Add to that the fact that you just sat here and spent more time talking about your cat than Will, and I'm starting to think something's going on."

"Nothing's going on," Elsie insists. "Really. Will is... good. He's good. He's had a nice run as Communications Director. He doesn't like speaking to the press that much, but he's doing okay. He's, you know. Happy. He's thinking of taking a job with the D-Triple-C."

He doesn't buy it, but he lets her off the hook with a promise to keep in touch. He tries to put Will out of his mind, at least for the time being, at least while he's talking to Joanne for Christ's sake, but it's oddly difficult.

**vi.**  
He always liked Cliff Calley. Josh had his reasons for hating him, yes, and they were good ones considering his feelings for Donna, but Sam thought he was of the rare breed of idealistic Republicans that seems to be dying out. Cliff appears just as confused about Sam's appointment as Deputy CoS as Sam is himself, but with a little less than two weeks until Inauguration, he offers to let Sam start sitting in on meetings and phone calls so he'll be ready to take over this job he is so, so unsuited for.

He sits in Cliff's office, ignoring the way his chest aches as he glances around the familiar room and sees pictures of Cliff and senators where pictures of Josh and his family should be. He wonders how different the layout of this administration will be, wonders if this will be his desk soon or if he'll be in Toby's old office, or maybe CJ's. He feels silly acting so nostalgic, especially when he hasn't been around in four years, but he can't help it. It's the end of an era, and as much as Josh believes in Matt Santos, Bartlet will be an impossible act to follow.

If Cliff notices the sudden slump to his shoulders, he doesn't say anything. Once the meeting is over, he offers to take Sam to lunch, an offer which Sam declines.

"Thanks for asking, but I should probably get some work done across the street before I take a break," he says as they walk through the bullpen.

"Okay," Cliff says. "I just thought I'd ask. I'm sure Josh is working you guys to the bone over there."

Sam laughs, but as he's about to respond, he glances up just in time to see Will walking towards them, reading the top of a large stack of papers.

"Will?" he says, his ears going red when he realizes the squeaky pitch that his voice just took.

Will stops abruptly and looks up, his eyes widening.

"Sam," he says with obviously forced casualness. "What are you doing here?"

Sam isn't sure what to say or do. He's been searching for Will all month, but now that they're actually standing in front of each other, his mind goes stereotypically blank. "I, uh, work here. Starting in a little less than two weeks."

"Right," Will says, shifting uncomfortably. "I heard. Deputy Chief of Staff. It was...surprising."

Sam shrugs. "Josh thinks he needs the help. He wants someone he can trust. I heard you're signing on with the D-Triple-C."

"Um." Will looks down. "Actually, I might be...I was thinking about running for Congress. In Oregon."

Well. That was certainly news.

"Wow," Sam said. "Congratulations. That's...also surprising."

"Yeah, well...I thought it was something I'd try."

They stare at each other, and Sam holds back the deluge of questions that suddenly pop into his head. They're not the sort of things he wants to ask in front of Cliff, or any of the staff milling around giving them odd looks.

"We need to catch up some time," Sam says finally. "Lunch or coffee...."

"Yeah." Will sighs with relief. "Yeah, coffee sometime. Maybe later this week. Or next week. Or, you're probably pretty busy, so maybe you should, you know, pick a day. And get back to me."

"I will," Sam says. "Uh. Take care, Will."

Will nods and opens his mouth to say something. He stares for a moment before closing it and rushing away, the tips of his ears distinctly red.

Sam watches him go, and it takes Cliff's voice to shake him out of his stupor.

"I've had less awkward conversations with ex-girlfriends," he says. His voice is tinged with the awkward concern that Sam once remembers being used with Donna and Sam turns, startled.

"We were friends," he says by way of explanation. Cliff shrugs and doesn't bring it up again. Sam's grateful, but he can't shake an overwhelming feeling of dread. He works halfheartedly for the rest of the day, before slipping out of the office at seven and wandering the streets until he feels tired enough to go home.

  
**vii.**  
Sam cracks open the minibar once he gets off the phone with Joanne, who's still settling their affairs in California. He's barely poured himself a drink when he hears a knock at the door. He sighs, heavily. Dealing with Josh in the middle of the night is not a habit he wants to get back into.

"Josh, I'm not really feeling well," he calls out as he gets up from the bed and heads for the door. "I'll come in early tomorrow, but I just want to sleep off some of this...." He trails off once he glances out the peep hole. Josh is nowhere in sight; rather, Will Bailey is staring at his shoes.

Sam opens the door.

"Hi," says Will.

"Hi," Sam manages to say. He gestures Will inside and they take seats around a small table next to the bed.

"The thing is," Will says, "I can't run for Congress." There's something off about him, something awkward, and Sam can't place exactly what it is. "I really, really can't do it, and I don't know why I let Kate talk me into it, but it's not a good idea." Sam slowly realizes that Will is blazingly drunk. "It's basically the worst idea anyone has ever had, but I was okay with it up until...you had to go and come back and now I don't even know what's...I can't do it anymore, not if you're going to be here."

Sam rubs his temples. "Will, I have no idea what the hell--"

It's a testament to how fast Will moves that Sam doesn't even notice Will's up from his chair until he's practically sitting on Sam's lap, kissing him breathless.

If Sam wasn't sure before that Will was drunk, he is now that the stale taste of bourbon is overloading his senses. That isn't the only thing overloading his senses though, and it's hard to believe how adept Will is at kissing when he's this intoxicated. Sam leans back, tangling his fingers in Will's hair and pulling him closer, as if this isn't the most frightening and unexpected thing that has ever happened to him.

When Will pulls away, they stare at each other for a long moment.

"Um."

"I'm really drunk," Will says quickly. "And that was...not what I came over here intending to do and I...I'd better go." He's up before Sam can stop him, backing slowly towards the door. "That was...God, I'm sorry, Sam. I'm going to go, now."

"No, wait!" Sam says, but he's already out the door. Sam stares after him, and then closes his eyes, willing away the fluttering in his stomach and the rush of blood to places further south.

It's going to be a long, sleepless night.

**viii.**  
Sam tosses and turns for hours, but he can't get the image of Will out of his head, or the taste out of his mouth. He ignores Joanne's morning phone call and heads into the office in a daze.

Once he has work in front of him, it's startlingly easy to concentrate. He plows through two call sheets and takes three meetings before he even stops for coffee. Josh is nearly gleeful with his progress, but Donna stares at him with concern and insists he stop for lunch. Despite her most persuasive glares, he refuses to tell her what's wrong, giving only polite answers to her questions and trying to push the taste of bourbon out of his mind and out of his mouth.

**ix.**  
After two days of her calls being ignored, Joanne tells him she's changed her mind about re-taking the Bar. She sends him his things in neatly organized boxes that stay packed and piled in his new apartment.

**x.**  
Three days after the incident in his hotel room, Sam picks up his phone and dials Will's office. He hangs up once the voice mail clicks in. He wants to talk about it, but he's not sure what to say. It's a bad idea, mostly because calling Will is just going to make Sam want to kiss him again, and the memory of the last time is severely affecting his sleep cycle as it is.

He barely has time to think about Will as the weeks leading up to inauguration fly by. He comes to loathe his job and finds himself snapping at both Josh and the Communications staff when he gets his hands on a copy of the inaugural address. He shows it to Toby, who reads it quickly and announces that Sam doesn't have to worry about hating his job--he'll have a new one in four years' time. Sam laughs, bitterly, wondering for the umpteenth time what the hell he's doing.

He manages to avoid Will up until two days after inauguration. The avoidance isn't completely on purpose--part of Sam wants to see him, the same part that picks up the phone and dials Will's number once a week, hanging up instead of leaving a message.

Over the weeks that have passed, he's gone over dozens of ways that his next meeting with Will Bailey can go, but what actually happens is nothing he could have prepared himself for. He bumps into Will--quite literally--at a new diner. They stare at each other for a long time, until a surly customer barks at them for blocking the exit.

"Hi," Will says, looking at his shoes.

"Hi," Sam says. He shakes the feeling of deja vu and realizes a little belatedly that if Donna really had told everyone she knows about this place, Will was probably somewhere near the top of the list.

"I haven't been ignoring you," Will blurts out after another moment of stilted silence. "I mean. I just...I don't know what I should say so I never pick up your calls. Once I figured out what to say, I was completely planning on talking to you."

Sam's fist tightens around his paper coffee cup. He's not sure why he's about to make this offer.

"Are you...ready to talk now?" he asks. "My apartment's not far."

Will scrutinizes him.

"That would be remarkably stupid." And he's right. Sam knows what's going to happen if Will comes back to his apartment, or at least, he knows what he wants to happen. It will be career suicide for both of them, but he's started to realize that it's the same thought that's been niggling at the back of his head for the past four years.

"I know," Sam says. "But it would probably be a better place to talk than the middle of a diner at one a.m."

Will quietly concedes, dipping his head and moving to hold the door open for Sam. He follows Sam down the streets silently, clutching his cup close to his chest, keeping his eyes focused on the ground. Sam can't help but notice how differently Will is behaving, how withdrawn Will is. He's used to an argumentative Will, a Will who won't back down. Of course, Sam has found himself acting wildly out of character around Will lately, so who is he, really, to judge?

It doesn't take long to get to Sam's apartment, although the climb up the stairs feels as though it takes a century in and of itself. Sam gestures for Will to take a seat and walks straight across the room to the liquor cabinet. It's empty, save for a bottle of cheap vodka, but he pulls the bottle out and brings it over to the coffee table. Will still isn't looking at him.

"I've been thinking about it," Sam says. He focuses on the peeling label of the bottle, purposely keeping his eyes away from Will. "I was waiting for Josh. For all those years, I was waiting for Josh but all the while...I think about it now and I realize that it should have been you." Will looks up, clearly confused, but Sam keeps going. "I had this...image in my head of Josh and me and what our relationship used to be like. It used to be different, but Josh...Josh is different now, and I was never what he wanted. I thought he understood what _I_ wanted, but the past few months have made it impeccably clear that he has no idea what I need, what I can do." Sam swallows hard, resisting the urge to open the vodka before he continues. He looks up at Will, holds his gaze. "Josh came to get me, but it should have been you."

Silence.

"Will," he says, palms sweating, "if we do this it's...you can't run for Congress. And I can never run for anything again. We'll be lucky if we can get any sort of job in politics again."

"You think I don't know that?" Will's voice has a strange edge to it, the sort of edge that makes Sam twitch in something like fear or possibly anticipation. "You think that I...God, Sam, why the hell do you think I've been avoiding you? You work for the President. As much as I'd like to...as much as I've been...we can't. _You_ can't. I can't run for Congress because this is all going to come out--you and, you know, every other guy I've ever fucked. And you can't do this. It will ruin your career."

Sam swallows hard. "You haven't yet," he says. His mouth is dry as Will frowns at him in confusion. "You said...me and every other guy you've ever fucked. But you haven't fucked me yet."

"You're arguing semantics?"

"No," Sam says, standing up. "I'm arguing that if you had stayed in my hotel room for five more minutes that night, you would have been naked. And I'm arguing that I'm no longer engaged, and I'm arguing that I don't care about my career right now." He twists his hands together nervously. "I'm arguing that you haven't, yet, and I want to change that as soon as possible, so you should either leave or kiss me again."

Sam's not sure when Will goes from glaring up at him to kissing him so hard he's afraid his lips will bruise, but it's a split second difference. He stumbles with Will's added weight and almost trips over the coffee table. Somehow, through the haze of his brain, through the lust and anticipation, he's able to navigate them back to the couch, but after that he gives up any sort of cognitive thought. Will is not being gentle, which is fine by Sam. Whatever this is has existed between them long enough to forgo gentle all together. It's all hard and sharp and rough, fingertips digging and tearing and the scrape of nails and click of teeth. It's hard to keep track of clothing, but before long there's little left to keep track of, just skin slick with a sheen of sweat.

They're channelling everything into this. Sam knows it because he's never like this, not really, but it makes sense because he's never really felt like this before. This frustration and fear...it's the fucking scariest thing he's ever experienced, purposefully throwing to hell all of his aspirations and everything he's ever prepared for. He's as angry at Will as he is grateful for him and he'd feel bad for the scratches and bruises, the stubble burn and nail marks and bite marks if it wasn't for the fact that Will is giving back nothing less. Part of Sam almost wants to draw blood, to make this permanent and as painful as possible, but the part of him that has always appreciated Will's body wins out in the end. The urge passes, sated by dark pinks scratches on Will's arm and marks on his neck that will have him wearing turtle necks for at least a week.

Sam doesn't remember moving to the bedroom, but, when he reaches into the bedside table for condoms, he realizes that's where they are. They haven't spoken since Sam's challenge, and he thinks he likes it better that way. After they lose everything, after they throw their careers away, they'll have all the time in the world to be gentle and loving and patient. This is about need and despair and it's better this way, just for tonight.

Will presses Sam's shoulders back, slides his hands down to Sam's wrists and leans his weight onto them, teeth scraping down the length of Sam's torso, tongue investigating the grooves of his ribs, the dip of his navel. When he reaches Sam's cock, he doesn't bother to tease, just swallows him down like he's starved for it. It's rough and desperate and Sam sees stars, even as Will is thrusting against him, whimpering and whispering nonsense and finally coming with a choked sob.

Afterwards, Sam can neither breathe nor see straight. He's shaking, still, but surprised when Will's fingers brush tenderly over his navel. Will is curled up tightly next to him, looking dismal.

"Um," Sam says, when he can speak again.

"Shut up and let me mourn for my future, okay?" Will mutters, angrily.

"You can..." Sam starts, trailing off. "We can just pretend--"

"I said shut up," Will says without looking up. "I didn't say I was leaving, I said I was mourning."

Sam doesn't say anything else after that. He falls asleep with Will still curled against his side.

**xi.**  
He's surprised to wake to Will's nose pressed against his neck, Will's breathing tickling his collarbone. He would have expected a quick exit, or at least a sullen note highlighting the reasons why this is a terrible idea. But no, Will is still pressed against his side, and as he shifts his shoulders, he feels a hitch in Will's breath and knows he's awake.

"You're still here," Sam says.

"I told you I wasn't leaving," Will says. His voice is muzzy from sleep and he gropes around the bed blindly, squinting up at Sam. "Where are my glasses?"

"In the living room."

Will squints at him some more. "Next time, remind me that I like to see in the morning."

"Next time?"

"Don't be stupid, Sam," Will says. "It doesn't suit you." Sam nods and runs his fingers through Will's hair because he can. He's not sure if he'll allowed to or able to tomorrow or the next day or the next week, but for the moment, he's granted this simple thing. Will closes his eyes at the movement before lifting himself onto his elbows.

"I thought you said you weren't leaving," Sam says. Will gives him a wan smile as he awkwardly rolls out of bed.

"I'm not, but I need to call the D-Triple-C," he says. "I should tell them I can't run because of my big gay double life. Might as well let them get on finding a replacement as soon as possible." Will wanders out of the room wearing only his boxer shorts, and even those are backwards. Sam thinks it's endearing, but his stomach feels uneasy and he can't summon any warmth from the thought.

"I should call Josh," Sam says. "He'll probably want to know. And yell a little, maybe." Putting on his own clothing seems like more trouble than it's worth. All he really wants to do is stay in bed until this all blows over, until he and Will are old and grey and out of the spotlight and no one cares who they're fucking.

He manages to push the blankets back, though, and rifles through his drawers for a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. Will wanders back into the room with his glasses on and his mouth still set in a resigned slant.

"I don't know how we're going to find someone else, at this point," he says.

"If anyone can do it..."

Everything feels dire and dark. It's the start of a relationship, and Sam feels more like he's ending one. Maybe he is. Last time it took losing an election to break his heart. It shouldn't be surprising that the realization that he can never run again hurts even more.

Still, after all of this time, after all these years of waiting, it shouldn't be like this.

"Will," he says, reaching out and laying a hand on Will's arm, even as Will stoops to find his pants. "I have to call Josh, and probably Lou, but afterwards... um..." Will blinks at him, looking exhausted. "Do you maybe want to have breakfast?"

Will stares, until a smile, a _real_ smile, crosses his face.

"Sam Seaborn, are you asking me out on a date?" he asks.

"Maybe," Sam says, but he's smiling too.

"I'd...yeah," Will says. His smile widens. "Yeah. I'd love to."


End file.
